


why'd you only call me when you're high

by phix27



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, POV Second Person, Recreational Drug Use, also it's not really underage because they're in high school but, um i can't think of anything else but if you think i should tag something let me know, well the drug is mentioned it's just weed but i thought i should tag it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phix27/pseuds/phix27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The call comes at 3am.  You debate not picking it up.  You always do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	why'd you only call me when you're high

**Author's Note:**

> This story was a spur of the moment fic that came out of me hearing the song Why'd You Only Call Me When I'm High by The Arctic Monkeys. It's unbetaed so sorry for any mistakes.

It’s 3 am and your phone is ringing.

Well more precisely, it’s barking like a dog.  For the fourth time in at least as many minutes.  You immediately know who it is.  You debate not picking it up. 

But you always do.

“What?” you ask, instead of hello.  Your face is still pressed into the pillow, your eyes are still screwed shut like your desperately clinging to sleep.  You wish you were still asleep. 

But everyone has their weaknesses.

“Oh real nice,” the voice on the other side of the line growls.  Well, it’s almost a growl.  It comes out more like a slur, but you know what he means.

You sigh and flop over on your back, arm over your eyes and phone cradled close.  “It’s three in the morning Kyoutani,” you sigh heavily.  Your throat feels dry, but you don’t bother to try and fix it. 

“I know,” he sighs quietly.  “I- I just-“

All of a sudden, it hits you why he called.  Well, you should have known.  He only ever calls at times like this, at the early hours and when he’s high.

“No,” you say.  But it doesn’t make sense, because he hasn’t said anything and you don’t even know what you’re answering to.  All you know is that you want to hang up, but something doesn’t let you.

“I haven’t even said anything,” he says loudly.  It might be your imagination, but there’s a hint of desperation in there. 

There’s silence and it’s deafening.  You don’t want to break it, but there’s something soothing about the sound of his breaths over the phone, a little raspy with static and who knows what else.  You could fall asleep to it.  If you were a romantic, maybe.  If you were in love, maybe.

“Please,” he says quietly.  It’s what you’ve been waiting for.

You sigh but throw the blankets off of you, padding around in the dark.  You’re wearing sleep pants and a t-shirt and you slowly open your bedroom door and look down the hall at your parent’s room, even though they have no reason to be up at this time.  You don’t either, really. 

You can’t imagine why you keep doing this as you creep down the stairs.  Your heart isn’t racing, this isn’t exciting.  It weighs heavy in your stomach.  Like a duty, a responsibility. 

He’s still breathing at the other end of the phone, and you listen to it until you open the front door.  And there he is. 

Its winter and he’s not dressed right, in just a light jacket and your volleyball sweat pants.  His ears are red from the cold and his breath is a light mist in front of you.  You hear it twice, once through the phone and once while looking at him.  You pull the phone from your ear and hang up, because you are not a romantic. 

“Well?” you say, with a raised eyebrow.  You try not to shiver in the cold air but you do anyway.  He sees.

“Come on,” he says gruffly, still a bit slurred. 

He comes closer and backs you against the wall of your foyer.  The door closes behind him a bit too loudly for comfort and you wince.  Hopefully your parents don’t wake up from it.  This is impossible to explain. 

Kyoutani smells like weed as he takes his shoes off clumsily.  You think maybe he shouldn’t leave them there, but you can always explain them away as your own.  He smells so strongly, and you’ve never smoked- and you don’t want to- but you take a deep inhale. 

He hears and reaches for you and you let him pull you to him.  He buries his head in your neck and kisses your pulse point so lightly, you might have imagined it if he didn’t do that every time.  You run your hand over his hair and nuzzle lightly at the point just above his ear.  Kyoutani sighs happily and puts his hands around your waist.  He always holds you gently, like you might break, which is weird because you won’t and he has no reason to be gentle with you.

The two of you stand like that for a while, wrapped up in each other.  He keeps pressing tiny kisses to your neck and shoulder and they tickle a little.  His eyelashes flutter against your skin.  And you stand there and breathe in his scent.

 Cold.  Weed. A spicy scent that’s all his own. 

You might not smoke weed, but you certainly do have your own drug.  You get impossibly high at times like this. 

The two of you might have stood there for hours.  You’re really not sure as you pull away.  Kyoutani doesn’t want to let go but slowly he detaches himself.  His eyes are bloodshot still, but he looks at you like he can see your soul.  You look always uncomfortably.

“Are you hungry?” you ask.  You’ve read that people get hungry after smoking.

At the edge of your vision, you see him shake his head.  “I want-“ he says, then stops himself. 

But you know what he wants, so you take his hand and take him upstairs with you.  He’s a step behind, but you can feel his gaze on you.  It’s becoming more intense like a second.

“Do you need anything?” you ask.

“You know what I need,” Kyoutani answers quietly. 

You suck in a breath at that, but he’s right.  You always know what he needs. 

So you lead him into the bedroom, still dark but for the moonlight streaming through the windows.  You drop his hand and sit on the bed, watching him.  He watches you back, eyes glittering, and takes a step forward.

The touch of your lips is just like it always is.  His lips are chapped, his mouth tastes a little funny from the smoke, and it’s so hot.  Your eyes fall shut as he pushes you down onto the bed.  You’re addicted to it. 

He’s the first to break the kiss, and he kisses your neck again, harder this time.  He bites your pulse point and you arch into it, letting out a low groan.  His teeth are smooth on your neck where he smiles.

With his hands he pushes up your shirt, running his hands along your chest.  He tweaks your nipples just the tiniest bit and you suck in a breath.  Kyoutani takes a moment to kiss one, before dropping to his knees. 

Your heart is racing, despite what you might wish.  But in this moment, you only have one. 

And Kyoutani gives it to you.  He pulls your sleep pants down, and you’re only half hard at this point but he doesn’t seem to care.  It doesn’t stop him from shuffling closer and pressing kisses along the shaft.  They’re so soft again, just like the ones against your neck.  The thought drives you a little crazy. 

He’s whispering things as he kisses up and down your thighs, your cock, your balls, everywhere he can reach.  You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you think you know what he means.

Once you’re fully hard, he takes you into his mouth without preamble.  You groan again, louder this time, and arch your back.  One hand flies up to cover your mouth, and the other reaches down to rest on his head.  You don’t push, despite wanting to.  Your hips twitch a little though, like you can’t resist completely. 

Kyoutani’s honestly not even that good.  His blowjobs are sloppy and there’s always a hint of teeth.  But he’s so enthusiastic and he tries so hard, even though he gags most of the time when he takes you in.  The nickname Mad Dog crosses through your mind, but it makes you groan in a different way than usual when you hear it.

He pulls back to kiss the head softly, mouthing it like he’s kissing your lips.  He’s fumbling with something and you look down to watch him take out his own cock, precome leaking from the tip.  You moan, the loudest you have yet, as he starts to jack himself off.  He kisses the head again one more time, tongue dipping into the slit for a breath-stealing moment before he swallows you again.

It doesn’t take you long after that.  You can’t look away from his hand where it’s moving on himself; you can’t get over the fact that he likes this so much he’s hard and leaking.  It’s that, combined with the pressure that throws you over the edge suddenly.  You don’t have time to warn him like you should, and you tighten your hand in his hair in a way that must be painful, but he swallows you down without complaint. 

You lie back and your breathing sounds harsh in the quiet room.  But it’s not that quiet, actually, because Kyoutani’s still between your legs.

He’s kissing your thighs again and groaning against your skin.  You can hear the slick sounds where he’s still jacking himself off and you raise yourself up on your elbows to watching.  After a few moments, you put your hand on his head and tug slightly.

Kyoutani looks up and meets your eyes, and his pupils are blown wide.  As you watch, he takes a shuddering breath and says your name.  “Yahaba.” 

You smile and reply “Good boy Kentarou.”  Your voice is husky- you barely recognize it as your own.

But apparently it strikes something in him, in Kyoutani, because he groans again and his hand flies faster and then as you watch, he’s coming and coming all over his hand and you swear his face is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Or you would, if you were a romantic. 

When he’s done you let go of his hair and he presses his head against your thigh.  You run your hand over his head again, feeling the short curly strands under your palm.  After a moment you reach for a tissue by your bedside and hand it to him. 

Kyoutani pulls back and cleans his hand without a word.  He stands up and tucks himself back in, then throws the tissue away in the trash can by the door.  He turns back to you and you look at each other for a moment before you sit up and climb into bed.  You scoot closer to the wall, even though you hate that side.

After a moment he joins you.  He hesitates only a moment before wrapping his arms around your waist, and even under torture you wouldn’t admit that you like it.  You close your eyes and inhale his scent.

Heat.  Come.  A hint of weed still. That spicy scent. 

You’re on your own little high and you fall asleep to the sound of his breathing, even though you blame it on exhaustion. 

In the morning he’s gone, and your mom is calling for you that breakfast is ready.  You groan and roll over, not wanting to get up.  The pillow smells a bit like him. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing this pairing, my first time writing these characters, my first time writing smut in a long time, and my first time writing in a long time. i tried to keep them as in character as possible but. Kudos are appreciated, Comments are loved! Thank you for reading


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